#aymeric de borel/reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

owlespresso · 7 months

Text

longing. aymeric/reader is a sequel to Slake. tags: hurt/comfort, possessiveness, dragoon!reader, implied estimeric/wol

You’re not completely sure why you’re here. The past few hours are like rainwater down a slope, memories like chunks of dirt and rock swept down hills and crags. Brain smoothed out, moss washed off river rock by the current. Bogged down with rainwater, clothed stuck tight to your body in a vacuum seal, dripping wet and cold onto the lacquered wood of his estate’s floor.

House Borel seems bigger at night, shadows stretched to encompass most of the room, though beaten back by the dimming fireplace. Aymeric was likely readying for bed before you stumbled in through the door like an ambling drunkard, wasted off your own wallowing. He owes you nothing. You left him alone—abandoned him in pursuit of a man who didn’t wish to be found.

Still, he shepherded you inside the manor yawning threshold and up the stairs, peeled you from your layers with a diligence that still surprises you. The shirt you’re wearing now is his. It smells like him, clean and soft like fresh linens, with a familiar dash of cologne. The smallclothes you’re in are also his.

He keeps sending you fretful, furtive glances as he flits through the room, shoving curtains closed and fiddling with some things on his desk with fumbling fingers. There’s the sound of the drawers slamming shut, and then he’s heading for the door—leaving you. You bite your lip, push back the carnal, desperate need to follow, follow, follow. To nip at his heels and live under his skin.

“I will return posthaste,” he jerks backwards to send you a pleading glance, as though you needed any further persuasion. “—do not go anywhere.” His tone is low and authoritative. He rarely ever talks to you that way, but it sends a shiver down your spine. To be coveted. To have your presence so demanded and craved.

When he returns, he pushes the mug into your hands, and moves to sit on the armchair close to the couch. Yet, you reach out and snag him by the sleeve. Without so much as a word, he takes the cue and settles next to you. He’s warm and solid when you press into his side, pressing your face into the side of his shoulder, inhaling deep.

“I take it your rendezvous with Estinien did not go well,” he says, careful and measured, like you are some treasure that will break if handled too roughly, or some beast that will snap its jaws at him the moment he tests your patience. You prefer the former.

“He’s not coming back. Not anytime soon,” you murmur, taking a sip of the still-hot beverage. Before, it would have scalded your tongue and the roof of your mouth. Now, it goes down easy. Another mild perk that comes with whatever it is that you’ve become. Aymeric sighs next to you.

“I cannot speak for our wayward friend. He is never wont to take the easy, worn path, however he will return to us eventually. It seems my presence must suffice, for the time being.” he says with a small, woeful smile. Your heart plummets. He feels thoroughly inadequate and you are to blame.

“You’re not—you don’t need to compare yourself to him. I care deeply for you both. Equally. I just needed closure after everything that happened. Sharing the title of Azure Dragoon has… connected us in a peculiar way. When he left, everything I felt… the disappointment, the confusion, the need for closure—it just became amplified. Unbearable.” you explain, doing your best to illustrate the intensity of your feelings without frightening him. Aymeric has been at your side since you arrived in Ishgard, a constant force of warmth and acceptance. Yet, a part of you still fears he will find you alien, find your dragon-borne tendencies too strange to stomach. “It was like a constant migraine, something I could physically feel. I had to go to him or I would go mad with it.”

Aymeric’s expression softens. The pad of his thumb rubs over your cheek, caressing the skin beneath your eye.

“Forgive me. I have known for quite some time about the… unique bond you share with Estinien. However, I was unaware of its extent, or the effects his sudden leaving would have on you.” Aymeric sounds troubled as he brings you closer, arm wrapped around you to squeeze.

“Yes, well—” you swallow, unsure of what else to say. A sudden weariness crushes around your form like the rough, churning tides of the sea. The energy sags out of you all at once. You reach a hand to cradle the side of your face, eyes slipping shut.

“Are you alright?” Aymeric asks, shifting closer. You can hear the panic beginning to seep into his voice. “Shall I call for the chirurgeons? Wait here, I—”

“No, there’s no need,” you grasp his sleeve, imploring him to stay with your eyes. “I’m tired from the journey, that's all. I’ll be fine after I get some rest.”

“Then rest,” Aymeric says softly, sounding like a soothe but coming as a command. You don’t mind. As the Warrior of Light, countless look to you as a source of inspiration and guidance. It’s nice to let someone else take the reins.

“Carry me?” your voice is a near whisper.

“Of course,” Aymeric yields to your requests so easily, every time. He even takes your mug from you, gently resting it on the end table beside the couch. He’ll come back for it once you’re settled in bed, and bring it to you. You know already. Strong arms scoop you off the couch and cradle you close to a well-muscled chest. He rarely ever sees battles, but he still finds the time to train meticulously, should his strength be truly needed. Long have you known that he wishes to rest his mantle as Ishgard’s leading authority, but a part of you cannot help but like that he’s tethered here. Safe, within the city’s thick walls, so far from so many things that could hurt him.

Would he hate you, if you told him as much? Would he look at you differently? You don’t know. And you’re not keen to find out, not keen to lose another treasure.

“Rest now, my beloved.” he murmurs against your temple. You let yourself go limp in his hold.

#aymeric/reader #imagine ffxiv #aymeric #oz write #aymeric de borel/reader

18 notes · View notes

crimsonsynastry · 2 years

Text

Blade of Blue

Aymeric de Borel/F!WoL | Aymeric de Borel/F!Reader

His head had lifted to meet yours, a slight smile lifting to his lips. Subtle. There, and yet not there. "Just a small break, my lord," you'd breathed out, and he set the quill down on the paper and sat upright, turning to you. He was always so busy... But then, that was to be expected of one in his position, wasn't it? The Elezen stared up at you with that subtle smile, hands still upon the desk, still..

#🍋#my writing #aymeric/wol #Aymeric/reader #aymeric #aymeric de borel/reader #aymeric de borel/wol #aymeric de borel

17 notes · View notes

yasuosexual · 3 months

Note

How would the ff14 best boys sleep non-sexually 👀

(I have healthy thoughts about Aymeric I SWEAR)

as someone with 0 healthy thoughts about aymeric, thank you for bringing some into my head 🫶🏼

warnings: drunk thancred, swearing, suggestive hint

THANCRED:

- sleeps like a fucking rock

- once he finds a position that he’s comfortable in, thancred is NOT moving. you can try everything within your power to get him to budge but you’re shit outta luck lol

- snores loud as fuck too so get ready for those earplugs. he got that dad snore bro

- 75% of the time he’s sprawled out like a starfish, taking up the majority of the bed. 25% of the time he cuddles you to sleep. you won’t be moving for the entire night so i hope you’re comfy:)

BONUS: when he’s drunk he’s extra clingy so he will pull you on top of him and death grip you so moving is harder than before (which is somehow possible)

AYMERIC:

- he’s a back sleeper and loves it when you lay on his chest

- won’t grip you to death like thancred will, but gets grouchy when you try to move. he will try to stop you, whether he’s awake or asleep, but won’t keep you from moving when you’re uncomfortable.

- aymeric won’t sleep unless you’re literally on top of him lol. he uses you like a weighted blanket!

- will play with your hair until he passes out. aymeric will keep himself awake to see that you’re asleep first and won’t ever let himself fall asleep without kissing your forehead first.

HAURCHEFANT:

- haurchefant on some big spoon little spoon type shit like he wants every inch of your body lining his like …

- he just wants to hold you all night long!!! like aymeric, he will try his best to make sure that he’s holding you safely from behind, but will let go if you are uncomfortable.

- wakes up when you stir too much and makes sure that you have enough blankets to cover you

- if you do wake up in the middle of the night, he’s right beside you to make sure everything is okay. will get you a glass of water if you’re thirsty or another blanket to cover up… although he’d rather warm you up in another way ;)

ESTINIEN:

- i feel like he sleeps like a victorian child

- estinien actually loves to cuddle before he goes to bed!!! come here pookie ~ like he wants to hold you and give you a kissy and then hopefully fall asleep like that (you on top of him)

- if you get uncomfortable and roll away, however, be warned that he is not nearly as nice as the others.

- hogs ALL of the covers so you have to fight him throughout the night for warmth. you moved away from him so now you play the price.

- even though he can be a meanie pants… if he senses that you’re having a tough time sleeping or a nightmare, estinien will bring you close to him and hold you to his chest, giving you a light kiss and a ‘i love you’ so you know it’s okay.

celly

thank you again, anon, for this awesome rq! so much fun to write and inspired me for the next thing i’d like to do!

108 notes · View notes

killingdove · 1 year

Note

could we perhaps get some headcanons for the ishgardian trio realizing the moment they fell for the reader/wol 👀👀👀

ishgardian trio ➳ — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

A/N: ooh i love this request so much!! i hope these are to your liking dearest anon ♡

𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐘𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃

it was in the way you sliced not only your foes but the way you sliced through the air as well when you were in battle

you may or may not worship halone but either way you were clearly bestowed the gift of combat prowess by her grace

when you’d have sparring matches together, estinien would never go easy on you as he finds that disrespectful but you knock the breath out of him physically and metaphorically whenever you win

there was a day where the practice match ended in you managing to get estinien’s back to fall atop the ground and you were pointing your weapon’s tip at him proudly from your standing position

“don’t tell me you’ve gone easy on me, wyrmblood,” you smirk

estinien stares up at you with wide eyes as he feels his heart skip a beat

but he quickly schools his elegant elezen features into his usual scowl

“of course not. who do you take me for?”

laughing, you help him up and he swears the contact between your hands ignited something within him, something different and incomparable to nidhogg’s rage that he felt all the time

he comes to find your laugh is like music to his ears

he also realizes he wants to hear more of the sound, and he uses that dry humor of his to elicit more of them from you from that day onwards which results in more small smiles from him

he’s doomed

𝐇𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐅𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐄

when he wrote and poured his heart into the missive that would later grant you and the scions access to ishgard, he stopped at one point after going on a spiel about you in ink

he had unwittingly went on to sing your highest praises and much of it read like a love letter

it was during his reminiscing of your good deeds as he wrote did he realize the pure adoration and emotion he felt for you

haurchefant gets embarrassed by himself, a blush rising to his cheeks as he sets the paper aside to start anew

he was nervous such a prodigious hero as yourself would not return his feelings

not only that but he did not want to risk his father blabbering about the contents of the missive to you

later, he sees you that day and feels his stomach doing somersaults

you were just so radiant, bringing hope and happiness wherever you tread

“be still my beating heart…” he mumbles to himself before he approaches you with a smile

as usual, he was his jovial and enthusiastic, caring self

but if one were to look closely enough, the dead giveaway of his love for you was evident within his eyes as they’d crinkle at the corners with his genuine smiles

𝐀𝐘𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂 𝐃𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐋

he had always admired you from the moment he started following your expeditions and learning of your successes

but he never knew the extent of how deep his feelings ran for you as time had passed with working with you

it wasn’t until he invites you for a one-on-one dinner within the Borel manor

that evening he got to know you better, and the back and forth conversations you had over steak and wine did nothing but stoke the flames of his growing love

when the topic had shifted to romance, he felt heat circulating within his cheeks

the way you talked about your past lovers however, caused a different heat within him; one that bespoke of jealousy

it was an ugly feeling that twisted him on the inside, one he was not quite familiar with but nevertheless he hid it well

he had asked what you found attractive in a partner eventually totally for the sake of carrying conversation and not because he was curious to see if he was the warrior of light’s type nooooo

aymeric found himself comparing his likeness to your standards and it suddenly hit him with startling clarity mid-way through rejoicing internally that he shared your type’s physical attributes

uh oh

the concern on your face when he lets his mask slip for just a moment makes him fall even harder for you if anything

with his newfound revelation, he says nothing is amiss and diverts your attention towards sharing your experiences with beastmen

all the while he’s screaming inside

297 notes · View notes

mothwingwritings · 1 month

Text

Look, I don’t think this would ever happen (if anything I think the two of them are/would be great buddies and would bond over their mutual love of the Warrior of Light/you), but I am a little obsessed with the idea of G’raha and Aymeric being so jealous of each other’s relationship with you that it births an intense rivalry between the two of them.

I’m talking childish levels of banter, one step away from the two of them grabbing either one of your arms and beginning a tug of war match. They would conceal their jealousy during any important meetings, when it’s time to work they are all business and decorum, too focused on trying to impress their hero with their prowess and tact to worry about what the other is doing. But afterwards, before the assembly splits up and everyone is just milling around sharing pleasantries? Oh, it’s on.

G’raha talking just a smidge too loudly about all the fun and exciting adventures he has gotten to share with you (and will continue to share with you far into the future), making sure Aymeric is within earshot so he can clearly hear each little intimate detail. Aymeric in turn excusing himself from whoever he is speaking with so he can interject into the conversation, standing just a little too close to you as he does so. He places his hand on the small of your back while he regales the party with tales of his time together with you, recanting with a fond twinkle in his eye all the time you spent together as you brought about the end of the Dragonsong War. He focused most of his time elaborating on the moments he spent alone with you and the greatness the two of you were able to achieve together, how well you both complimented each other.

They both get under each other’s skin so easily. G’raha is essentially living Aymeric’s dream life, getting to go on countless daring adventures all over the world (and beyond) with the person he treasures the most. And Aymeric intimately knows you in ways G’raha does not, as Aymeric has been a beloved companion and confidante in your life before G’raha even had a presence. For so long G’raha simply existed as an unreachable, detached entity from you, only able to dream of an eventual reunion (that on most days seemed like an unobtainable dream). He feels like he’s constantly playing catch up, while Aymeric consistently frets that he is being left behind. Both men know sides of their hero that the other does not, and both have experienced moments with you that the other will never share, and that gets to them.

Of course all the other scions notice this and tease them both about it mercilessly. Despite the heavy handedness of it all and their desire to always one up the other, both are always exhibiting remarkably good behavior around you to the point where you yourself are a little clueless as to the extent of this rivalry. And they work hard to keep it that way! No sense in looking like a fool in front or the person they love and admire the most, even if they are hell bent on being as petty as possible to each other behind the scenes to claim the top spot in your heart.

(Which is silly, you love and cherish both equally! :) No matter how much that impartiality may irritate them.)

58 notes · View notes

watanabes-cum-dump · 4 months

Note

I didn't know you were also a ffxiv fan!! If you have any thoughts on yandere ffxiv characters, I would LOVE to hear them.

Like, zenos is obvious, but I totally have some thoughts on others 👀👀

YES YANDERES YESYESYESYESSSSSSS

Yandere Haurchefant is hopelessly devoted to you. Sure it's not super different from regular Haurchefant who is Down Bad™ for WOL but I think here it becomes more of an obsession. Is he capable of holding you down? No, you're the Warrior of Light for twelve's sake. He couldn't lock you away if he tried. His resolve? Be around you 24/7. And I MEAN 24/7 365 12 months a year. Bro worships the ground you walk on and I really do think he would have joined the Scions if you know... the Vault didn't happen. Having his devotion might be a blessing or a curse, bc he is NOT letting you out of his sight. Attachment issues fr fr. Honestly I don't think he'd do anything super insane. Like yeah he'd kill for you, but he'd do that normally. And he's not doing it just bc he wants to or whatever. If you're ever threatened or god forbid, hurt- someone is going to taste the steel of his blade. Yandere Haurchefant is just regular Haurchefant with a little added insanity and unhinged-ness. Maybe he's extra horny too, bit of a pervert that one.

Now, Yandere Aymeric is giving me many thoughts thanks to this fic called Captivate so though I am a firm subscriber to the idea that literally only Zenos might be able to lock up WOL, I can also make an exception to Aymeric because of this fic. Please read it this changed my feelings for Aymeric. Though, Aymeric locking you up would also require him to have a sadistic streak, which he doesn't really have and this fic itself also feels like an AU where Aymeric actually caved in and became a piece of shit due to his upbringing. However, my personal idea for Yandere Aymeric is that via his political power, he pushes you to be with him. Of course, he only does this if you reject his advances at first. He would 100% find a way to force you in a semi-political marriage with him. Like I said before, no one can hold WOL down, but, he can keep you on a leash. No matter how long, he can always reel you back in if he wants to. I think he would harbor a bit of guilt personally. Like, he knows it's unhealthy, he knows it's hurting you- but he just wants you so damn bad. And he tries to make it up to you with gifts and whatnot, but at the end of the day, your collar, no matter how gilded and comfortable, is still a collar. And the Lord Commander had the leash.

#rlly wanted to do estinien but idk i don't see him like that #personally i think he's a little too emotionally constipated to act on his desires idk #he's so found family i love him <3 #actually in general i wanted to do more characters but haurchefant and aymeric r just constantly on my mind #i mean y'shtola and ysale are too but idk i can't see em like that #maybe bc i can only see a man being so unhinged and borderline cruel to someone he proclaims he loves #but that is a whole other thing to unpack lmao #ffxiv #haurchefant x reader #aymeric x reader #yandere ffxiv #ffxiv x reader #haurchefant greystone #aymeric de borel #haurchefant x wol #aymeric x wol #oh also i literally just started stormblood so yeah #kouryuu answers

57 notes · View notes

cinnabun-faerie · 4 months

Text

Celebrating your nameday with Aymeric

No matter what, Aymeric would do his damndest to make sure he got to celebrate your nameday with you

it may not be as soon as he'd want, but surely you'd understand that he'd rush to you as soon as he was free

he'd planned dinner with dancing as well as taking you for a little stroll about the city

and when he does, he embraces you with a present in hand

he would be a little nervous of your reaction to his gift

there had never truly been anyone who he'd felt so in love with before

so he wasn't really sure what was appropriate at this time in your relationship

he could have asked for advice, but honestly he got so carried away when he saw your gift that he just acted on impulse

he was relieved when you opened your gift and looked up at him with the most beautiful smile

one that would always have him falling in love with you over and over again

"Happy nameday, sweetheart."

#ffxiv headcanons #aymeric x reader #aymeric de borel

61 notes · View notes

agent-cupcake · 7 months

Text

Éphémère

I’ve been attempting to fill short kinktober prompts with the Final Fantasy XIV cast to procrastinate the larger project I've been doing. We’ll see where it goes. Most of them are AU's of some kind idk.

Pairing: Aymeric de Borel x f!Reader Kink: Semi-public / Blowjob Tags: Explicit, light D/s dynamic, alternate universe: modern Word Count: 2.7k

“What are you doing here?” Aymeric asked, his blue eyes widening with surprise upon seeing who had been knocking. You hadn’t called, although you should have. You didn’t want to risk being turned away, to be told you couldn’t steal a few precious moments from his busy life. Besides, you had a good cause this time.

Given that your hands were full, you shut the door with your foot. His office was the same as ever. It was not quite as grand as someone might expect, clearly inhabited by somebody who favored efficiency over aesthetics. The air smelled like him and the corporate scent of floor polish and new upholstery. While the blinds covering the windows facing Ishgard were wide open, those over the windows looking into the main office space were closed. It gave a very strong illusion of isolation and intimacy, like it was just you and him. Emboldened by that thought, you fixed Aymeric with as serious a stare as you could.

“I heard that you’re working way too hard, and that your staff is worried about you,” you said, having decided upon a cold open approach so he couldn’t wriggle out of your accusations. “I’ve even heard that it’s putting you in a bad mood. The men are losing morale.” You waited a beat for his response, but he just looked at you, completely befuddled. Eventually, you prompted him with a prodding,“So?”

“So… what?” Aymeric asked.

“Is any of that true?”

“True?” he repeated, his dark eyebrows pinching in the middle. “Ah, no… No, it is not.” Aymeric finally forced a reassuring smile. He wasn’t very good at faking. “I appreciate the concern, but I am fine.” You gave him a doubtful look, slowly meandering over to his cluttered desk. There was nothing to be said, you both knew that you were right. He could try to downplay it all he liked, but even Aymeric had his limits. He sighed. “I cannot afford to take a break yet. I promise to rest once this matter is resolved. Perhaps I’ll take a day off. We’ll go somewhere—anywhere you wish.”

“We won’t be going anywhere after you work yourself into a nervous breakdown,” you told him flatly.

“Please, don’t say such things. I promise that I will be fine.”

You sighed. “Either way, I brought you something to eat,” you said, setting the bag of takeout on the tiny bit of space left on his desk. “I had a feeling you skipped lunch.”

“Lunch?” he asked, brow furrowing. “What time is it?”

“Past lunch.”

“I see. I must have lost track of the time, I… Thank you.” He placed a hand over yours and smiled, a real smile, and you felt your chest clench. Even overworked and exhausted, he was beautiful. Far more beautiful than any man had a right to be. “I dare not consider where I might be without you.”

You smiled, even knowing it was a platitude. He was the most resilient person you had ever met, and one of the most solitary. Aymeric would be just as okay on his own as with you, but you liked the idea that he needed you, if only for a fleeting moment. You liked to think that there was something only you could give him, something of value.

And, just like that, you came to the conclusion that he didn’t look like he needed a meal. He looked taut as a bow string and ready to snap, he looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He looked like he needed a bit more than lunch.

“Hey, while I’m here, maybe…” you began, faltering with embarrassment as you tried to figure out the best way to phrase it.

“Is there something else?”

“I know there’s nothing I can say to make you take a break so I won’t ask. Still, I want to do something to brighten your day and honestly you look like you could use a pick-me-up,” you blurted out, speaking fast to keep your nerve. “I’ve thought about it before and I’m pretty sure I can fit under your desk,” you said, leaning forward to double check. Yeah, there was plenty of room. Three cheers for long legs. “Think of it as stress relief. Like a massage or something but, you know, with my mouth. What do you think?”

Done with your awkward proposition, you looked back up at Aymeric with as innocent an expression as you could manage, meeting his eyes as if you hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary. It was always hard to predict how he might react to any given situation, mostly it was a question of whether or not his Catholic guilt and relentless sense of propriety would win out, but you pretty well expected the way his mouth snapped shut, a muscle in his jaw ticking as his entire body went taut.

And then slowly, carefully, “Are you…”

“Offering to give you head in your office at three in the afternoon on a Thursday?” you finished for him. “Um… Yeah, I guess I am.”

“I… I don’t think… That is,” he cleared his throat, “obscenity of that sort would be extremely inappropriate for a man in my position.”

“C’mon, are you going to tell me that you’ve never thought about it? Doing secret, naughty things is the best part of getting a big, isolated office with a big, roomy desk. Or so I’ve been told.”

Aymeric swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the door and back. “Even if I were comfortable with such an egregious breach in etiquette, it would be wrong of me to do so while everyone else is working so hard.”

“You’re looking at it all wrong,” you argued. “If you work while you’re super stressed out, you won’t do as well, and you act all grumpy, and everybody is unhappy. If you take a teensy tiny little break to let me help you relax, you’ll work better, be nicer, and everybody will be happy... If you need an excuse, you can blame it all on me. You can say you got lured in by the irresistible charm of a succubus who would simply not take no for an answer.”

He let out a single laugh, dry and nervous and humorless. “Is there any truth in that?”

“I am pretty insatiable when it comes to you.”

Aymeric reached up to take hold of your chin, gently pulling your face towards his so you had no choice but to meet his eyes. And you knew that look. Conflict. Doubt. Desire.

“If you don’t want to, I’ll let it go,” you said. “But if it would make you feel better, I want to. I’d do anything… sir.”

Aymeric’s expression hardened, his eyes darkening a shade, and it was a stare that demanded your submission. It was the kind of look that was usually followed with orders like remove your clothes or don’t move unless I say or open your legs or-

“Get on your knees.” Even half whispered, even though he always left enough space in his demands for you to deny him if you were truly uncomfortable, that wasn’t the sort of order you turned down.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft. His fingers squeezed your jaw a little bit tighter, his eyebrow raising ever so slightly. “Yes, sir,” you amended. Aymeric released your face and leaned back, watching as you fell to your knees. Although there was enough space under his desk for you to fit, crawling under it was kind of awkward. Good thing your skirt was flared, scrambling around like this in anything tight would have been impossible.

“Is that okay?” he asked. “Should I move back?”

“No, sir. This is…” You breathed out, steadying yourself. “Perfect.”

Knowing you had a time limit, you undid his belt and the button of his pants, slowly pulling the zipper down. Aymeric was kind enough to shift his hips so you could push his trousers down and out of the way. Wanting to savor things at least a little, you traced the outline of his dick through the dark boxer briefs, feeling him harden beneath your touch. Aymeric’s hips shifted and he cleared his throat, prompting you to slip your fingers beneath the waistband to pull those down too.

He wasn’t hard yet, but the choked noise Aymeric made and the way his hips jumped forward when you began to stroke his cock made you think that he wanted this at least almost as much as you did. He caught himself quickly afterwards. Always playing the stoic.

You realized early on in the relationship that, power dynamic notwithstanding, Aymeric was not the type of man to demand things of you sexually, at least not for his own pleasure. There was an element of trial and error to figure out what worked. It was all pretty complicated. So was he, for that matter. Pretty and complicated.

Continuing to stroke the base, you paid your respects, kissing and licking your way across his cock. Every inch of him was perfect, though you could admit a preference for this particular part. Perfect, and, as you liked to think in your wildest moments, yours. Alternating between using just the tip of your tongue and the flat, you traced the veins running the length of his dick, following one along the underside until you reached the head, lavishing extra attention at the point where they met. You knew that got him, one of his hands finally finding its way to the top of your head. Humming happily, you did it again before pulling back to swirl your tongue around the swollen crown. His fingers curled against your scalp, not grabbing or pushing, but very insistently there.

Now that Aymeric was fully hard, you couldn’t help but think about what he felt like inside of you. How full, how complete you were when he fucked you. The mere thought of it was enough to make you moan shakily, wrapping your lips around his cock and pushing forward, sucking and licking enthusiastically in the hopes that he would be able to feel your arousal. Your appreciation, your affection, your adoration.

That wasn’t something you ever told him, not with words. You knew better than to distract him with too many of your feelings. He was so busy all the time, distant in a way that often left you cold. Not because he was cruel, or unfeeling, but because he lived in service to others, to lead, there was only so much of himself that he could give. Scraps, moments, little fragments of the most magnificent man you’d ever known. And he had been clear about that from the start. You made peace with it. For such a self-sacrificing man, the very least you could do was live in his service. If it was Aymeric, you didn’t mind so much.

Finding a pace and rhythm that worked took a moment of experimentation, getting your hand and mouth to work together. Plus, you were trying to be quiet, and clean. That’s how these office affairs went, right? Top secret stuff. Aymeric’s hips pushed forward, throwing you off.

“You needn’t hold yourself back,” he told you, his voice slightly muffled from above. “The walls are quite thick and-” he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. “I know you can do better.”

You hummed in understanding, although it probably didn’t sound like much with his cock in your mouth. It was one of Aymeric’s many contradictions. No matter how neat and put-together he always was, nights with him often ended with you teary eyed and dripping with sweat, your thighs slick with cum and saliva leaking from your open mouth, blissed out and sloppy. He wanted to know that you were enjoying yourself so much that you’d be reduced to a swooning, helpless mess. And still, he insisted he wasn’t any sort of sadist. Pretty, complicated, and terribly repressed.

You gave him what he wanted. It sounded obscene, wet slurping and your little choked moans stifled by his cock, the slick back and forth of your hand working the base, the movements smoothed by your saliva. It was already messy enough to be dripping down your chin and onto your skirt. Probably onto his expensive trousers. He had spare suits at the office though, it was fine.

“If you’re going to hump my leg, move your skirt out of the way,” Aymeric said. Embarrassing, although he said it with a measure of warmth.

You stopped, pulling off with a slick pop and a shaky laugh. In your haze, you hadn’t even been aware of what your body was doing. “Ss-sorry, sir. I didn’t…”

“That wasn't a request.” You couldn’t see him, but you could imagine the imperious set of his sharp features, the way his perfect lips blushed dark pink and parted when he was turned on, how his inky dark eyelashes would flutter open so he could look at you with those gorgeous eyes.

You whimpered, a sound you couldn’t help. A bit awkwardly, you hiked your skirt out of the way, shuffling a little closer so you could better grind against his leg.

“Good girl,” he murmured softly. Sweetly, using the hand on your head to pet your hair. You shuddered hard, raising your chin and opening your mouth. Aymeric met you halfway, his hips pushing forward while you moved down, your saliva-slick hand jerking him off in tandem with each bob of your head.

Now that you were actively trying, the pressure between your legs was intoxicating. You wondered how much he could feel with the heavy fabric of his trousers in the way, if he was aware of how hot you burned for him, how wet every little catch of his breath or groan he couldn’t hold back left you. The friction wasn’t enough, but it was good. At this point, he was practically hitting the back of your throat with each thrust, and you couldn’t tell who was guiding the pace. It was all you could do to sneak in a breath here and there, to remember to use your tongue, to try and keep your voice down as you well and truly lost yourself in the hazy depths of lust and need, shamelessly grinding against his leg.

Aymeric clearly wasn’t concerned about volume control at all, the office was filled with wet squishing choking noises and your muffled moans. His breathing had become erratic and you could hear the low groans he tried to fight back. You wanted him to come. Desperately, desperately. You wanted to make him feel good, to make him relax, to narrow down his world until it was only you and him and the pleasure he could derive from you. You wanted him to throw you onto his desk and fuck you until you were screaming, to claim you because, God help you, you were his. Not just for a fleeting moment, a single afternoon, a day off, but always. Every second of every day, his.

“I… can’t…” was the only hoarse warning you got before his hips stuttered, his hand holding your head in place as he came. You braced yourself to take it. For any other guy you wouldn’t have, but Aymeric...

Aymeric. Every part of him was perfect, you would take anything he gave to you.

He moaned so prettily, even if he tried to muffle it, the sounds stuttered and choked. You swallowed and swallowed and swallowed, desperate to prove yourself, to take whatever he saw fit to give you. To be his good girl.

And then he stilled, his hand relaxing. His cock twitched in your mouth, and you pulled back with an unseemly amount of saliva. Like you thought, most of it was on your skirt. Not to mention your sore knees, stiff legs, and the lingering taste of cum in your mouth that was not nearly as pleasant when the act was finished. You needed to get up, the moment was over. He needed to get back to work. But, selfishly stealing a few more precious seconds, you rested your forehead against Aymeric’s knee, and he petted your head, and you let your eyes close. Just for a moment.

#aymeric de borel #ser aymeric #ffxiv aymeric #aymeric de borel x reader #ser aymeric x reader #ffxiv #final fantasy 14 #not sfw #this is very wholesome guys #he deserves it

72 notes · View notes

ma1dmer · 6 months

Text

Final Fantasy - Aymeric De Borel NSFW

i haven't touched the game in so long, but that doesn't stop me

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): he cleans you up and orders for a warm bath to be started for the both of you, he'll help you wash up and kiss you ,thanking you for the experience

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): thighs, this man is positively enamoured with your legs and especially your thighs, the soft mostly unmarked skin, he’s always keeping a gentle hand over your knee when you are sitting close together, and when he is feeling particularly bold he trails it up to simply swipe gentle circles on the inside of your thigh, innocently of course

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): doesn't like the mess or if there is one, the risk, of bringing a heir in the world right now, too much going on to even consider that

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he likes a bit of manhandling, wants someone to take control briefly off of his hands, wants you to want him so strongly it clouds your senses, to push him against a wall before crushing your lips on his, teeth and tongue ,he wants you to tell him how you want him, what he has to do to please you , order him around, pull his hair and he is yours

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): very very little, some very awkward halfway fumblings in the past that went nowhere, and then he got too busy and simply had no time or will to pursue anyone or anything

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): simple yet effective, missionary and riding him

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): he keeps a generally light attitude but does like things to be emotionally charged , he wants your eyes on him, and he'll kiss all your laughs and smiles ,smiling against your lips himself before sighing in pleasure

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): he shaves, keeps everything nice and smooth, its just easier than having to trim all the time, he always smells nice, if he knows you are meeting up he always prepares, even if you don't end up doing anything

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): very romantic, he'll have a fancy dinner under the moonlight prepared, take you out for a stroll ,pick roses for you and then offer fancy wine ,the anticipation slowly building between you two as you flirt back and forth over the night, is foreplay on its own, no matter if its your first time or you've been married for the past 50 years he always acts as if its your first date and he's just now trying to woo you

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): he doesn't indulge himself nearly enough, but loves the idea of you helping him out, your hand gripping him as you mouth at his throat and tell him how much you love him, he gets these sort of random thoughts that have him frustrated and unable to focus on his tasks

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): he is relatively vanilla in this aspect, nothing that really stands out, except perhaps a bit of roleplaying

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): your bedrooms, he needs his privacy and to have his head clear of worries about being caught being improper

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): using any sort of authoritive tone, when you defend yourself, or when speaking to someone of status or when you get angry or just anything like that, it makes his heart and belly make a little swoop and he can’t help but be a bit distracted the rest of the day

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): anything in public , the idea of getting caught is mortifying especially considering his status

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): he lives to serve you, from your ankles up to your knees, up your thighs, he’ll tell you to lay back and describes in detail what you do to him , how you make him feel and how he wishes to kiss the ground you walk on

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): Slow and sensual ,he takes his time with you, unwrapping and savouring you like a gift

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): he might say no initially but he is easy to persuade , likes the game of you coming to seek him out, but its more likely that he’ll send you off with promises of later

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): his status doesn't really allow for anything too risky, even if you manage to convince him to try something a bit out of the ordinary, he has to be prepared for the worst outcome so you usually plan things days in advance

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): it really all depends for how long were you teasing each other and if it was planned or not

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): he does not feel particularly strongly for or against them, whatever pleases you, but would love for you to tell him what you do to get yourself off when he isn't there, were you thinking of him perhaps?

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he absolutely is a tease, he is playful when he is comfortable with you, likes to come up behind you and whisper what he wants to do to you or what you can do to him later before walking away to return to his work

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): he mumbles a lot, pet names and professions of love and he does moan, breathlessly when he gets close to cumming, he would feel ashamed if he knew exactly how loud he gets when you two are alone

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): he has quite a vivid imagination and he often thinks of ways he’d like to have you as he plans your next dates, things almost never play out the way he plans them to but he doesn’t really mind as long as you are both happy in the end

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): he is pretty everywhere, average, a bit on the longer and thinner side and it curves nicely

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): he is very good at keeping his urges under control, on top of that he barely has the time to rest properly with his position, let alone remember to get horny

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he needs to be dragged to bed, you need to personally come and pry him off his work and even then he makes it very difficult with his polite words and affectionate terms, telling you he'll be with you shortly and placating your worries with a smile and a soft darling, stand strong and drag him to bed

#aymeric #aymeric smut #aymeric x reader #aymeric de borel #aymeric de borel x reader #aymeric de borel smut #final fantasy x reader #final fantasy smut #final fantasy xiv #final fantasy xiv smut #final fantasy xiv x reader #ffxiv x reader #ffxiv smut

73 notes · View notes

yukiotacon · 1 year

Text

Elf husbands poly Valentine's day hcs

You can bet your ass they are gonna have every important meeting about this

Aymeric does the impossible he ........ takes a break * audience gasp *

They have a very thoughtful discussion on what to get you

Unfortunately Aymeric ends up becoming the voice of reason for both Haurchefant and Estinien

Haurchefant going way overboard on the idea of showering you with gift

To which both Estinien and Aymeric have to remind him of last year's incident

Poor Haurchefant unintentionally was the cause of all the delivery moogles to be super tired

Estinien on the other hand is of course terrible with money

Haurchefant literally had to tackle and drag him away from a 200k ribbon for your hair

Aymeric was the one who came up with the plan

Which included

A nice stroll around Gridanian ( Estinien)

Participating in the sweet heart even( Haurchefant)

A nice home cook feast in the Borel manor

It semi when off without ay hitch

Fortunately or unfortunately Haurchefant channeled his inner 2014 heavensturn when he spoke about his partners

Yeah, all three of you were red as a tomato

The dinner was delicious and plentiful

Aymeric made sure to include everyone's favorite food on the menu

When the food was eaten, Haurchefant leans in and whispers " My love do save room for dessert ~" Haurchefant says in a sensual manner

Let's just say dessert was eater inside your shared bedroom and it involves a nice chocolate fountain and fruits platter and three still hungry Elezen men

To all Warriors of light I salute you because good lord you ain't coming out of that bedroom any time soon

Happy valentine's day guys ♡♡♡♡

204 notes · View notes

starlight-brainrot · 5 months

Text

FFXIV - Academic Rival AU (x reader)

Characters: Aymeric, Alphinaud, Urianger, G'raha Tia, Y'shtola

Tags: fluff, high school AU, academic rival AU, gn reader, miscommunication (g'raha's)

Warnings: since it's a high school AU, it's assumed that wol/reader is the same age as Alphinaud.

Word Count: 1336

Aymeric

Mr. class president

Chess club leader as well?

You, meanwhile, are the captain of various sports teams

As well as boasting a more than stellar gpa

It ends up being a competition of who will have the better college application - him, or you?

Whenever the two of you meet, it feels as though sparks are flying

The two of you will share pleasantries, but make no mistake - the tension is thick.

For every competition he wins, you make sure to win a couple more. For every academic ribbon you earn, he’s right there behind you.

Haurchefant and Thancred secretly have an ongoing bet to see when the two of you will finally get together.

And as time goes on, more and more of your friends join in on this bet

It seems that the feelings between the two of you are obvious to everyone… but you.

Every stolen glance, every blush, every rant about the other - it was maddening to have to watch two idiots clearly in love avoid their feelings over an inconsequential rivalry.

It’s only after the two of you graduate and receive acceptance letters into the same college, both with full ride scholarships, that Aymeric nervously asks you out.

“I know that we were at odds in high school… but seeing as we’re both here and our rivalry has ended in a tie…”

“Would you like to grab coffee with me?”

Congrats to Alisaie, who won $20 from everyone in your friend group.

Alphinaud

The two of you are fellow debate team members

…however, the two of you are constantly trying to one up each other.

Who will capture the attention of the audience?

Who will have a more airtight argument?

You were known for your iron logic. It was tough, if at all possible for others to oppose your arguments

Alphinaud was meanwhile known for capturing the hearts of his audience

Surely a formidable duo, if only the two of you could get along…

As the semester drags on, the big competition for your debate team inched nearer and nearer

With all your mock debates with Alphinaud, you felt like you had done all that you could for tomorrow’s event

But it felt like something was missing…

It was Alphinaud who approached you, wanting to go over strategies

Begrudgingly, the two of you recognized that the other could provide helpful tips

Alisaie gives her brother a knowing look as the two of you settle in with your laptops and coffee. He avoids her look with red cheeks.

He feels sick the morning of the competition. He’s so nervous!

But when he hears you say that he better not lose to anyone but you, he feels some semblance of peace, followed by determination for the day ahead of him.

To no one’s surprise, the two of you crush your competition, leaving your opponents floundering for words as you leave them behind in the dust

No, the real surprise is how loudly the two of you cheer for each other upon victory - how proud you are for Alphinaud and how proud he is of you.

Urianger

You’re unsure of when or how the two of you started competing to see who could read more books in the library.

Perhaps it was that the two of you saw each other there everyday

Or the fact that Moenbryda and Y’shtola seem to constantly egg the two of you on

Little did the two of you know, the roegadyn and miqote were trying to get the two of you together, as they had been trying to do for the past four years.

Maybe this will be the year…

Urianger found himself exploring sections of the library he wouldn’t usually frequent in hopes of being in your presence just a little longer.

His puppy love felt silly to him, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop, especially if you kept looking at him with that soft smile of yours

If given the chance, he’d make a whole new library for you filled with poems and flower words detailing his feelings for you.

If someone were to find one of your names in a library book’s checkout card, it was near guaranteed that the other’s name would be just under it.

Your name became synonymous with his, and vice versa

But a competition that was never meant to be one in the first place will fall apart, have its lines blurred and crossed.

Moenbryda and Y’shtola receive their answer one day when they approach your usual reading spot, only to find the two of you lounging together in one of the library’s bean bags, books long forgotten in favor of sleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.

G’raha Tia

Could the two of you really call it a rivalry?

As far as anyone could see, the two of you just had a string of unusual coincidences.

The exact same schedule, lunch spots near each other, both being on the Tennis team - you saw him every hour of every school day.

So then, was it coincidence that his heart eventually began beating faster when you were around?

G’raha felt like he was going to explode, constantly in your presence

So, like any healthy and sane person does, he begins to (try to) avoid you.

Unfortunately for him, it’s almost impossible to avoid someone who shares your whole schedule

Oh, and you definitely noticed what he was doing.

Had you done something to offend the miqote?

Slowly, your friendship morphed into avoiding the other, both of you running from your feelings

When I say that everyone is tired of the two of you making puppy eyes at each other when you think no one is looking

I mean EVERYONE

It’s the twins who eventually get fed up and decide to act on it, forcing the two of you to put the tennis equipment away together, just to get the two of you to talk.

The silence is deafening as the two of you awkwardly clean up

It’s when the two of you brush fingertips and he recoils like he’d been burned that you snap.

“Am I really that disgusting to you?” You question, frowning.

Upon recognition of what he’s done, G’raha scrambles for an explanation, but eventually sighs and gives in, telling you the truth, he’d always had a crush on you, and hoped it’d fade away with time.

News flash, his feelings only got worse

He sincerely apologizes, not expecting any reciprocation or forgiveness

And is shocked when you give a relieved giggle.

“I’ve always liked you too, idiot.”

Y’shtola

Y’shtola was going to destroy you.

Well, perhaps that’s a bit too strong.

There was an internship available for fresh graduates under a well known researcher, and both you and Y’shtola were competing for a recommendation for said internship

Anyone who witnessed the two of you would admit that it’s a bit scary to watch the two of you interact.

As they say, an immovable object met an unstoppable force.

Even your teacher is a bit intimidated by whatever’s going on between the two of you, but given that they’re receiving help from the two of you, they’ll keep quiet about the fact that they can give you both the recommendation.

Though the two of you were at odds, it didn’t stop you both from completing your work together swiftly and without complaint.

You couldn’t help but feel as though Y’shtola enjoyed riling you up - but even as you tried to resist the temptation to reply to her, you failed every time

Luckily for Y’shtola, out of everyone she could have this silly competitive streak with, it was you. Oh, how cute you look when you’re upset, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed.

Upon the realization that both of you got the recommendation, an eerie silence entered the room.

All that competition for nothing?

How embarrassing.

And if anyone noticed the two of you walking to a coffee shop, hands entwined after this whole mess?

They’re better off not mentioning it.

a/n - I apologize if I wrote anyone ooc hehe... I'm not used to writing for many characters so I just took em and ran (shrug)

#ffxiv x reader #ffxiv fanfiction #final fantasy x reader #ffxiv #urianger augurelt #urianger x reader #aymeric x reader #aymeric de borel #y'shtola x reader #y'shtola rhul #g'raha tia x reader #g'raha tia #alphinaud x reader #alphinaud leveilleur #aymeric x wol #urianger x wol #g'raha x wol #alphinaud x wol #y'shtola x wol

46 notes · View notes

owlespresso · 11 months

Text

In which the Warrior of Light returns from their foray into the first, possessing a confidence both new and perhaps frightening to the Lord Commander.

There is no sudden fanfare to your arrival. You sweep into the city like the mists which churn before a coming storm, soundless. No messenger is sent to retrieve him. When he learns of your return, it is because you are in front of him, perched on the desk of his study like you never left. Aymeric blinks. Once. Twice. To dispel the mirage that he has dreamt in your absence.

You do not fade. You are real, and the weight of your absence collapses into his bones all at once. He stands in the doorway, nearly slack-jawed, for several moments.

It all happens at once.

"My friend! You've returned!" he stutters around the word, feeling out of his own body as he stumbles into the room. You slide off the desk. A sudden briskness to your step belies your desire to meet him halfway. There is no force on this mortal plane that could prevent him from reaching you, he thinks, but he finds himself befuddled on what to do, how to act when you're finally within arm's reach.

For what exists between you and him has never been clearly defined. Are you aware of how pained he has been in your absence? Do you know that you carved out a hollow, a hunger within him that only your presence can satisfy? Are you aware that every moment he is not holding you in his arms is sheer agony?

He needn't puzzle. Your arms curl around him first. Your fingers furl into the lavish, plentiful fabric of his cobalt robe. Your face buries into his chest. If he could somehow pull you inside of him, he would, he realizes absentmindedly. The world around him crawls like molasses, for all he sees and hears and smells is you. He takes in shameless lungfuls of your scent, buries his face in the crook of your neck.

"You love me, don't you?" you say, speaking to him for the first time in six months. His eyes open wide, and he briefly wonders just how many times you will surprise him this night.

"I do." For what else is he to say? Is he supposed to lie? Keep his long-buried feelings in their dusty old tomb for the sake of antiqued modesty? "Since the moment you won the Steps of Faith."

"Covered in blood and sweat?" you ask with a laugh, a smile curling your lips and wrinkling your nose.

"Both in equal measure," his voice comes out as a sheepish, breathy laugh. He so vividly remembers the sight of you, fresh out of the fight, cheeks smeared with soot and crimson. The hungry, haunted look in your eyes has dogged him in his every moment since. "...Is it presumptuous to assume you hold the same feelings for me?"

"No," you reply. You carry yourself with a new confidence, a new pace. There is something voracious at the edges of you. It reminds him of Estinien, in a way, who always keeps his beast at bay with lance and fist in the solitude of the high mountains or the far east. There's a gleam in your eyes that lets Aymeric know that you have welcomed whatever has seeded and grown within you, embraced the heady call of power during your time away. "It's good. Because we're going to get married."

"I beg your pardon?" He's unsure if he's heard you right, but his lips pull into an appeasing smile nonetheless. With every moment, he grows more and more uncertain of his own reality.

"We're getting married," you echo, as if it were a simple fact of life. "Is that a problem?"

"No! None at all. It is simply... sudden, especially in the wake of your long absence," Aymeric says, hovering hands finally resting on your hips to draw you closer. "Do not doubt me when I say there would be no greater honor than marrying you, my love. I simply fear that I will not be able to pay you the attention you deserve. Ishgard is still... struggling to comprehend all that has changed with the end of the Dragonsong War. I am required more than ever at the House of Lords—"

"Oh. That?" you tilt your head to the side, raising a brow. His heartbeat spikes beneath your hands as they rest atop his chest, unprotected by his usual mantle and armor. Your fingers press against the slight fat of his pectorals, and he suddenly feels like he has cotton in his mouth. "Are people still giving you trouble, Aymeric?"

"It's only natural. War is all we have known for centuries. It could take just as much time to—"

"All you have to do is say the word and I can take care of anyone you want, Aymeric."

"I appreciate the sentiment, truly. I do not know what I have done to earn the loyalty of someone so resplendent," he begins, corners of his smile growing tighter. Sweat begins to bead at the back of his neck under the scrutinizing weight of your gaze. Even whilst you are cradled in the long stretch of his body, he feels smaller, somehow. He feels inspected, feels transparent. The smoke and mirror diplomacy he has mastered over a lifetime vanish under the intensity of your attentions. "But we cannot—"

"Who would stop me?" you interrupt. The strange, intent focus you have seems to vanish all at once. The fervent darkness clouding your gaze relaxes, taut lines of your face mellowing. "Really, who could do it, Aymeric? I have slain Nidhogg. I have saved your beautiful city time and time again, no one on your little council of fools can argue that. Even if we disregard all I have done for Ishgard, I have killed gods and men leagues stronger than any of your soldiers."

How did the conversation end up here? Aymeric feels hopelessly lost, all of the sudden. The rug pulled out from underneath him, the tight well of black ocean water crushing him. Where have you been, for these six months?

He dares ask none of these questions as you curl your fingers into the back of his hair, pull him down to say the words against his lips. Your teeth graze his chapped skin. He thinks, in that moment, that you could eat him. (Some part of him wishes you would.)

"As long as you have me, you don't need to cooperate with anyone else.

#aymeric #aymeric de borel #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #oz write #not beta read #not even proof read #i typed this with my pussy and nothin else #this wol is insane but like is she?#is she really?#or is she just self aware #aymeric/reader #fathoming ffxiv

47 notes · View notes

samsaurwrites · 1 year

Text

Captivate (Aymeric x Reader x Estinien) - Chapter 2

You don’t know what tales the conspirators in Ul’Dah are spinning. What prices they’ve posted for your head. You don’t know if they’re hunting you—if they’re gaining on you. You don’t know how many they are or how long you can keep going. All you know is that you are alone. Horribly and unspeakably alone.

After the death of the Sultana of Ul'Dah, you seek out sanctuary in Ishgard, in the Lord Commander of the Temple Knights. But Aymeric de Borel hides a dark secret, one that will bring you to your knees.

Tags: Heavensward Expansion, Cannon Adjacent, Mentioned Scions of the Seventh Dawn, Obsessive Aymeric de Borel, Dark Aymeric de Borel, Kidnapping, Emotional Manipulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Extremely Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content (eventually) , Stockholm Syndrome, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Other Additional Tags to be Added

Read here or on AO3.

Chapters: 1 | 2

They leave you in that wretched darkness for days.

Days.

Days you see and speak to no one. Days you waste away in your own filth.

Days your stomach cramps and growls and shrivels up in your belly; days when the chains feel so heavy around your wrists that you don’t bother lifting them, don’t even try yanking on them anymore.

Days where you don’t try at all.

Days you spend floating somewhere between wake and sleep, seeing phantom horrors that manifest in the dark—disfigured creatures, with hunched backs and long, bony arms that creep in the corners; eyes, staring from you from the mortar in the walls, cold and leering and primal; a ringing in your ears that sounds like whispers.

Like—they’ve forgotten you.

Like—they’re never coming back.

Then, when your lips are so chapped you can’t get rid of the taste of blood; when your stomach is howling so loudly you think your skull may split in two, Estinien returns. The noise, the sudden opening and closing of the door, startles you; the clank of his armor, his boots on the cold stone floor startles you.

You bolt upright. Chains rattling. Barely fighting back a wave of dizziness, of nausea.

The torch he slots into the wall nearly blinds you; straining your eyes, filling them with tears that trickle and burn. You shrink away, shrink into yourself because looking at it, looking at him—it hurts.

He walks closer, approaching you slowly, the way you would a wounded animal, and only then do you notice what he carries. Instead of his lance, a small bucket and ladle. Sloshing. Filled to the brim.

Water.

You swallow thickly, shifting onto your knees, fingers twitching into fists.

Want it, want it, want it—

He sits on the edge of the bed. Beckons you closer.

“Here,” he says, voice rough and low and like velvet against your ears because it’s the only thing you’ve heard besides your own breathing, your own muffled crying in what feels like an eternity. He ladles out a scoop of water. “Drink.”

You do. Scooting as close to him as you dare. Slowly, he brings the ladle to your lips. Tilts it towards you, and cool water flows into your mouth. Once you start drinking, you can’t stop. Drinking frantically. Sloppily. Gulping it down as quickly as you can, as quickly as he’ll refill the ladle and let you drink again.

Your fingers wrap tentatively around his wrists. Squeezing tighter when he doesn’t pull away. Water rolls down your chin, your neck. You drink and drink, clinging to him, drinking until there’s nothing left. Until your panting, shoulders heaving up and down and up and down, breath ragged in your throat.

Then, he starts to stand and—panic.

“Wait,” you croak, voice hoarse from neglect and disuse. “Estinien, please—”

You try to hold him. To grab him and keep him there.

But you’re so weak.

He pries your fingers from his wrist with ease. Retreats from your reach before you can make another grab at him—too weak, too weary, too slow.

You watch him. Dread weighing down on your shoulders, squeezing your chest tighter and tighter and tighter. Your fingers fist in the soiled sheets. You’re breathing fast. Too fast, and it makes you dizzy. Makes you woozy.

Makes you sick.

“P-Please,” you beg. You don’t even realize you’re crying until tears fall from your cheeks onto the backs of your hands. “Please don’t—”

Please don’t leave me here.

The door slams shut, plunging you back into darkness, and you can’t smother the broken wail that crawls out of your throat. The sobs that wrack your shoulders. You scream and cry until you can’t anymore. Until your voice has shriveled up into nothing, leaving you empty, empty, empty.

Please don’t leave me here.

You rock back and forth, arms wrapped around your knees. Dig your fingernails into your skin and pray to Hydaelyn, to anyone who will listen, to help you. To save you. To free you.

To kill you.

You fall asleep to the imagined sounds of claws scraping against stone.

A day later, Estinien comes back. No lance, but no bucket and ladle either.

You don’t bother sitting up. Just shut your eyes against the blinding brightness he brings.

The water had made it worse. Made you acutely aware of how thirsty you were, how dry your throat felt. How much your mouth tasted like dirt and dust and blood. Made you weaker. Listless.

“Come with me,” he says, crossing the room in long, brusque strides. “You’re filthy.”

He kneels down next to you, and only then do you pry open your eyes. Only then do you watch blankly as he unbolts your chains from the wall and takes them in hand.

“Up,” is all he says before he’s pulling you, stumbling, from the bed.

Standing, being upright, after so many days confined to a bed feels wrong. Your legs tremble and shake, unused now to supporting your weight, and your knees threaten to buckle. Your arms hang limply in front of you, held together by the manacles encircling your wrists, by Estinien’s iron grip.

“Do not fight me,” he warns lowly, before releasing your chains and drawing a long strip of cloth from his belt.

For the briefest instant, you imagine it. Imagine what would happen if you drove your shoulder into his stomach. What would happen if you managed to catch him off guard long enough to bolt out the door. You wonder how far you would make it before he caught you. Before he cornered you in a dead-end hallway. Before you ran into someone or something worse.

But you’re tired. So, so tired.

Instead of fighting, instead of running—instead of trying—you let him tie the cloth over your eyes, let him blind you. You cling to your bonds, breath heavy in your lungs, fingers wrapping around the chains, the only thing anchoring you to reality, to him. And then he pulls, tugging you towards the door.

The stone is cold against your bare feet, causing involuntary shivers to race up and down your spine. The clanking of chains is the only sound between you as he drags you forward, sightless, and you start to wonder why he hasn’t gagged or silenced you. Then, you realize, with a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

That you must be somewhere where it doesn’t matter how much or how loudly you scream.

Because there must be no one around to hear you.

No one around to help you.

You choke on your next breath.

Estinien leads you onwards, and you quickly lose track. It slips from your memory like sand through your fingers. You can’t remember how steps you’ve taken, how many corridors you’ve turned down, how many lefts or rights you made; can’t remember what order you made them in either. Too tired to focus on anything other than putting one foot in front of the other, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

Eventually, he stops, and you hear a door open in front of you.

Warmth billows out from it, washing over you, dewing on your skin, and you shiver.

A gentle tug on your chains is all it, and you follow him into the room.

Steam wraps around you like a blanket, heating your skin, your fingers and toes. The gentle scent of lavender, of vanilla and oil and soap, invades your senses, and you inhale deeply, sinking down in it, drowning in it.

Hands—not gauntlets or gloves—but warm, calloused hands lift your own, raising them in front of your chest, palms up, like an offering. You don’t recoil, don’t flinch, not like you should. You savor it, the contact, the presence of another being, of something other than the monsters that dwell in the corners of your prison.

You hate that you do.

Then, you hear a soft clanking, feel keys brush across you palms while he undoes your manacles. Removes them from your wrist and—and you feel like you can breathe again.

“Take this off,” he murmurs, voice flat, fingering at the sleeve of your sleeping dress.

Your shoulders tense, breath turning to ice in your lungs. Shake your head. Lower lip trembling, heart pounding—THUD THUD THUD THUD. Eyebrows pulling together, tears burning behind your closed eyes. You cradle your wrists against your chest. Take a half-step backwards.

He catches your arm, and you yelp.

“To bathe,” he bites out, and you can hear the scowl on his face.

A pause. One stuttering heartbeat. Another.

Still trembling, still leaking tears, you nod once. Again, when you still can’t find it in you to move. Then, you’re grabbing the skirt of your dress and pulling it up, up, up. Over your head. Leaving you naked, shivering, as goosebumps break out along your skin.

He takes your hand and leads you forward, guiding you towards the sweet smell, into a deep tub filled with heated water. He helps you slide down into it, placing your hand on the porcelain rim. And—

It’s bliss.

“Estinien,” you start, breathier than you mean for it to be, fingers prodding at the bottom edge of the blindfold, just barely slipping underneath—

But he stops you. Fingers wrapping around your wrist, pulling your hand away from your face.

“Leave it,” he says, then guides your hand down to a washcloth, to a small glass bottle arranged on top of a small table next to the tub. “Use these to clean yourself.”

He stands again, and your head follows the sound, chin tilting up.

“Leave it on,” he says again, and slowly, you nod. “I’ll return soon.”

You hear him leave. Hear the door shut and click. And then, you’re alone.

But it doesn’t feel like it.

You feel watched. Feel eyes roaming down the length of your neck, across your shoulders, sliding down over your spine, over every inch of exposed skin. You sink down deeper into the water, until the water touches your chin.

Your breath comes out fast. In short, ragged puffs that just barely disturb the surface of the water. Despite the heat of the water, despite the way it wraps around you and seeks to soothe the ache in your muscles, in your bones, you still feel cold.

You shiver and quake and don’t dare think about why you haven’t ripped off the blindfold.

Why you haven’t dared to stand up.

Why you haven’t snatched your soiled dress and yanked open the door and run yet.

Trembling, you reach for the washcloth, patting around blindly for it until your fingers brush soft fabric. You take the bottle. Uncork it and pour sweet smelling soap into the cloth, rubbing it between your palms until it warms and suds.

You drag it along your body. Over your arms and legs, hissing when the cloth catches against the scabs that still litter your skin. You scrub at your shoulders, at your hips, rubbing at the dirt and blood and filth that’s caked there. Rub and rub and rub until your skin feels raw.

You discard the cloth, leave it hanging over the side of the tub. Slowly, you lean backwards, dipping your head into the water, back arching, breasts just barely breaching the surface of the water. You let the heat and the wet soak into your hair, your scalp. Lowly, almost without realizing it, you hum.

Gods, how you’ve missed bathing.

Sitting up, you reach again for the soap. Pour it into your hands and lather it into your scalp, working your fingertips around in gentle circles, scrubbing at the oil and the sweat. Again, you lean back. Hold your breath and submerge yourself completely. Try to rinse the suds out from your hair, as best you can, before resurfacing. Before sitting up. Before the water starts to seep from the blindfold, from your hair, to roll down your skin in tiny rivulets.

The silence stings. In the empty expanse of the bathroom, your breath seems to echo. To reverberate and bounce and ring in your ears. You pull your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. Curling in on yourself because you still feel eyes on you.

Still feel like you’re being watched, like you’re not alone.

“H-Hello?” you whisper, to the silence, to the steam.

You swear you hear an answer, an exhale—a laugh. Your head jerks towards the sound, breath catching in your throat. You almost rip off the blindfold. Almost shatter the bottle on the tub and wield it, jagged and broken, like a weapon. Almost stand, almost fight, almost run.

Almost.

Fear keeps you still. Rigid. Keeps you quiet.

You don’t dare whisper again.

Instead, you wait, shoulders tensed, fingernails digging into your legs. Wait for Estinien to return. Wait for the eyes to come closer. Wait for the breath to whisper across the back of your neck, to float past your ears. Wait so long the water around you grows still, grows tepid, then cool. Shivers wrack you. Tremors shaking you from head to toe, but still you do not stand. Still you do nothing, do not even dare to adjust the blindfold that has gone frigid against your skin.

Then, the door clicks open, and you nearly shriek.

Your head whips towards the sound. Towards the footsteps that approach you.

“Estinien?” you croak, releasing your hold on your knees in favor of the edge of the tub.

“Aye,” he answers. He pulls you up onto your feet, fingers firm around your wrists. Helping you climb out of the tub. Keeping you steady when you sway, when you nearly move your balance. He pushes a towel into your trembling fingers. “Dry yourself.”

You do. Wringing out your hair, wiping away the droplets that cling to your skin.

“Here,” he says, and hands you another dress, a soft, wispy feeling thing that you pull over your head immediately. You feel your breath even out; feel the unease ebb, feel your bones settling back into place; feel less of the burning gaze roving over your body, dampened by the gauzy fabric obscuring your skin.

Fingers touch the edge of your blindfold—and then you recoil. Then you jerk your head away; then the back of your thighs bump the edge of the bath, clattering into the side table. Sending the bottle crashing to the ground. Shattering. Tiny glass shards skittering across the tiles.

The sound is deafening.

You catch yourself. Barely. One hand behind you, braces on the opposite side, the other clasped tight in Estinien’s punishing grasp. He curses and yanks you forward, towards him, so that you sit upright on the edge of the bath.

“I told you not to fight me,” he snaps, tearing off the blindfold. Throwing it to the floor. And for a moment—you glimpse him. A flash of silver hair, of high cheekbones and a strong nose. Eyes the color of slate, of shadow and fog and smoke; eyes outlined with dark, heavy circles.

Then, another cloth is being drawn over your eyes. Cinched tight behind your head with no regard for the hair that pulls and twists within the knot. You wince, but say nothing, focusing on the nettling sting in your scalp instead of the shame that twists and squirms in your belly.

Without warning, Estinien scoops you up into his arms, and you bite back a yelp; arms shooting around his neck, clinging to him as he carries you over shards of broken glass that pop and crunch underneath his boots.

You hear the door open. Hear it swing shut behind you. Hear the sounds of Estinien’s footsteps echoing in the halls as he carries you back through the winding maze of cold, unfeeling stone.

You don’t hear Aymeric rise to his feet, standing from the chair sitting in the far corner of the bathroom. Don’t see the smile that still lingers on his lips as he takes in the scattered glass, the soiled dress, the sopping blindfold. You don’t see the dark satisfaction that ripples behind his eyes, don’t see the desire that smolders and burns there. You hadn’t fought, hadn’t run. You had listened.

Had obeyed.

When your feet once again touch the cold stones, somehow, you know that you’re back. Back in your prison, in your cell. Back to darkness and filth and hunger and thirst. Back to madness. To clawing and crying and begging for an end that won’t come.

Helpless.

You can’t stop the whimper that bubbles up from your throat, strangled and wet and desperate.

“Please,” you whisper, hardly even audible.

Estinien holds you still, hands firm. Unwavering. Slowly, he binds your wrists together, wrapping them in cold bands of iron that burn against your skin. You hear chains. A cacophonous sound that makes you dizzy. Makes sick. You feel the weight of them as he attaches them to your manacles. Gently.

Carefully, he unties the blindfold. Softly, he removes the cloth from your eyes.

Careful, gentle, soft, slow—

“Please,” you beg again, louder this time, voice laced with panic, with fear. Tears sting in the corners of your eyes, in your nose. Breath speeding—uneven—sharp, jagged, like glass skittering across the floor. “Let… Let me go, please. I… I—”

He merely watches. Doesn’t say a word as you clutch at him.

“Tell him I escaped,” you breathe, clutching at him. Trembling. “T-Tell him… Tell him Hydaelyn saved me. O-Or that the Scions did. Tell him… Anything—just… just please—” your voice breaks into two. “—I can’t take it anymore.”

Silence. Then, “you must.”

Thanks for reading!! You can check out my other writing here.

#aymeric x wol #aymeric x reader #estinien x wol #estinien x reader #aymeric de borel #aymeric ffxiv #estinien wyrmblood #estinien ffxiv #ffxiv #eventual smut #but we gotta do some ✨plot✨ first cause im classy #my writing #writing #fanfiction

41 notes · View notes

yasuosexual · 3 months

Text

best boys and their favorite sex positions 😋

warnings: 18+, female reader

THANCRED: cowgirl/reverse cowgirl

- thancred loves it when you ride him, especially when you take the initiative. he finds it extremely hot when you push him down on to the bed and straddle him, taking total control.

- loves it when you face him, but also doesn’t mind reverse. he will leave plenty of marks on your neck and chest/back regardless.

- “you’re so hot on top of me,”

- thancred hates it when he cums too fast the first time that you ride him. he asks you to start riding him more often so he can last longer. plus it’s a great excuse to bury his face in your chest:)

AYMERIC: 69

- yeah i said it. this man goes crazy about giving you head. aymeric cares about making you feel good and will eat you out until you cum on his face multiple times.

- while he loves to see your face twist with pleasure when he works his tongue around your sensitive bud (in missionary), he enjoys 69 the most because he is able to make you sit on his face. don’t be shy— he will literally pull your ass down onto him.

- “one more time, darling. i know you can do it,”

- swears that your juices are the best thing he has ever tasted and will NEVER let you have sex without sitting on his face first. mans gotta drink up!!!

HAURCHEFANT: missionary

- this man … this man!!! loves to watch you as he fucks you. he is actually obsessed with you and loves to make eye contact.

- he enjoys it when you grab him by the hair and pull his face down, kissing him all over. moan in his ear while you’re at it too— that shit drives him absolutely wild.

- “you are so beautiful underneath me like this,”

- haurchefant could watch you for hours underneath him and hates finishing because he could literally fuck you forever. doesn’t mean he won’t make you cum though, and when he does it’s fist clenching, eye rolling, name moaning (probably screaming LOL!) type shit like this man does not play around with pleasure. you’re cumming multiple times too so don’t think you’re done yet:)

ESTINIEN: doggy

- estinien loves it rough. we all know this. he enjoys doggy style the best because he is able to have so much control over the pace and the hardness of his thrusts.

- will grab you by the hair or push you down into the bed, getting the best angle every time. as much as he loves it rough, estinien is sure to always make you cum first. you know he loves multiple rounds too, so prepare yourself.

- “good girl. you take it so well,”

- he doesn’t mind letting you take control… if he’s feeling like it. sometimes he will let go of your ass and let you pleasure yourself on his cock, smiling as his hands run across your body.

celly

i love these men y aren’t they real :(

125 notes · View notes

killingdove · 1 year

Text

immortally wounded ➳ — (h.g. & a.b.)

PAIRING: haurchefant greystone x gender neutral!wol (ft. aymeric de borel x gender neutral!wol)

GENRE(S): angst, hurt no comfort, drabble

WORD COUNT: 1.0k

CONTENT WARNINGS: heavensward spoilers, major character death, implied suicide

A/N: ...so the vault huh

ao3 mirror

You should’ve died.

With your fists trembling at your sides, you throw your head back, baring your throat to the heavens. The ache in your beating heart does not hold a candle to the ache left behind by the anguished wail that claws its way out of your chest.

It should’ve been you.

The heavens make no indication of hearing you.

If only…

A half sob follows, then–

Anger.

It settles deep, a blooming that reaches the apex of your next sorrowful cry to the skies of Coerthas above. You vaguely wonder if he can hear you from Halone’s halls.

To have your other half torn asunder so suddenly leaves you broken, a lance having pierced you straight through your heart much like his shield.

If only you weren’t in the way.

Saltine tears drop from your glassy eyes into the snow below, his gravestone and shield doing little to comfort you. Resting your forehead against the cold surface of the slab of stone, you can feel your soul yearn for what you’ve lost. From what Aymeric had taken from you.

The anger seethes, burns, forming an unyielding grasp around your quivering frame. It was Aymeric that had indirectly orchestrated the downfall of your beloved, it was Aymeric that tore, tore, tore away at what you thought was the inseparable tie that had bound you once to your beloved.

The bastard laid in bed with you that evening. His apologetic kisses left nothing but disdain in their wake. But you couldn’t deny what Count Fortemps had seen in the young commander. An uncanny resemblance to your dear Haurchefant.

You wonder what cruel trick of fate this was.

Looking past the dark curls and striking dual blue hues, you saw what you had once fallen in love with. And that was precisely what kept you tethered to the sheets, fists twisted in them as he whispered sweet nothings into your ear with remorse in deep blues that reminded you all too much of him. You moan and keen, but naught was for the man above you, this he knew.

But that didn’t stop him from loving you.

And love you he did— he was every bit the picturesque lover, attentive, kind, endearing with a heart of blinding gold. Haurchefant was no different. You figure if you closed your eyes, you could fool yourself into loving a man that you had once came home to.

You knew this would hurt him, but that pain would be nothing compared to the one you felt when a hand you had traced the palm lines of and tenderly squeezed many times before grew cold and lifeless in your own.

—

The sun sets in Ishgard again, and with it, your eyes did for one last time.

It was Aymeric that had found you.

Your hair sprawled on the ground reminded him so much of that of an angel’s halo. Your peaceful countenance was no longer streaked with the tears Aymeric had time and time brushed away with the touch of a sinner seeking repentance.

For the second time that waning moon, he felt despair and ice filled his veins. His mouth parted to call your name, to shout, to do anything other than gawk and tremble like the fingers that cradled your face.

The Lord Commander was not often rendered speechless and shocked to the core. Your name eventually emerges as a questioning whisper from the churning depths of his stupor, and the color drains from his complexion.

No.

This couldn’t be…

But there you were. Silent, motionless. Unresponsive to his screams and shaking.

He checks for any hopeful sign of a pulse before burying his face into the crook of your neck, sobs wracking his body as incessant apologies interspersed with hiccups and tremors tumble out of his lips while his worst fears are confirmed.

Why?

The inquiry directed towards Hydaelyn echoes within his mind but there is no one to respond. His gloved fists crumple into your clothing.

Whywhywhy?

It wasn’t supposed to be this way…

Aymeric couldn’t fathom it, wrap his clever head around it. It’d be a lifetime before he’d glean an answer, he reckons.

He stands, holding your fragile, limp body bridal-style, his expression a tumultuous display of emotion.

A familiar, blonde-haired figure awaits him at the foot of the Pillars, the descent feeling like an eternity without you. When Lucia catches sight of your cold body nestled within warm arms, she stands with eyes wide and mouth agape, realization dawning on her sharp features.

Aymeric’s armored footfalls come to a standstill at the bottom step. He raises his gaze to meet his subordinate’s.

“The Warrior of Light is dead.”

–

There was a unanimous agreement that you should be buried next to your true lover you had loved in your waking moments. Both of you overlooked Coerthas as Aymeric kneels, eyes shut. A fresh bouquet of you and Haurchefant’s favorite flora lies betwixt your tombstones.

There was no well in all of Eorzea that would hold all the grief and guilt the knight harbored for both a fallen comrade and the light of his life.

But alas, he couldn’t very well give into his heartsickness when the Dragonsong War remained at large and Nidhogg’s vengeance and thirst for Ishgardian blood still posed a threat. It was a Temple Knight’s duty to soldier on and carry out the will of the dearly departed that had died for the cause that had once united them.

These wounds of his would never truly heal in full, immortally afflicted as he was, but it is with honor that he continues the fight in both of your names. Aymeric just wished Eorzea’s two brightest lights weren’t snuffed out so soon and that the dolor doesn’t succeed in pulling him under.

“Come, Lucia,” Aymeric calls out. She nods in response, waiting for the commander to lead the way before trailing after him. The trek back was one of silence, rumination, and regret.

Ishgard felt darker and colder in the Warrior of Light and the Silver Fuller’s absence, he thinks to himself.

#ffxiv x reader #ff14 x reader #angst #ffxiv angst #haurchefant x wol #haurchefant greystone x wol #haurchefant x reader #haurchefant greystone x reader #aymeric x wol #aymeric de borel x wol #aymeric de borel x reader #aymeric x reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral y/n

35 notes · View notes